New Experiments Physico-mechanicall

There is yet another way to explicate the Spring of the Air.
— Boyle

Of arms control and the man I ching, hymns and hearse from hollows to hump. Flushing my brainblock of burden images. I keep my ears peeled to the grills around the crampfire, intent on gullys, tuning out the fun they laugh together. Out of the sluice gates of heaven as they jocky for affection. Around the curves. That’s why they call him sandy clause, cause I’m a closet saint. Sassoons my model bride.

When all the ashes are transported far beyond the gallic sea, no longer will it linger that she prefers he to eye. She is queen of the count down, a spirit of the wood, ice melting. Elude to her if you but can. You don’t have to say.

This realization, born on a mountaintop in Tennessee, was certified structurally sound, although the architect, with a head for figures, was hard of heraing. An erstwhile invertable omenizer, wet between, he’s the worlds longest indefensible keyborder. Or you might say, he was before the squat of sprugerons removed his vice box. Killed em a brute parasite when they was only three. They endowed what’s left of his thalamus with nuptial commotions.

Sappers, stand by. We have an air-breathing missile on screen. Could we have your backscattered signature on the broken line of your reentry? How many incoming on yr bus?t. Our intelligence community is on a depressed trajectory. He who phart in phased array must sit in own Pu. 239. Accordian to the latest releases of string theory. Strum and dang it all. A hollogram of our drugged dependency. Torricellian funiculus.

Turnip collar garnished with rejection slips of ffroidian tongue. A curled vermilliondollar bordering on a gaping yawn. Heralding arms crossed on a feeld of cold. The surface tension on my wet blanket dampened her enthusiasm. Then she lost my secret decoder ring by the waters of Babylon. I got to have it to open the atomic toolbox. When the moon is on the party line. Oao, I snubbed my tao. Running the estuary equation of an emotional olympic. A glyph on the stairway to that snowstorm in Hawaii. As fate would have it, I were charged with three cunts of froid under trapeeze of glance neglegee.

How was I to know she’d be so spin sensitive? Am I just being chirlish? Oh boy. A mirror image of my farmer self. A symbolist at the behest of the desist. My smokescream a stepping stone into the etiological orgasm. The cockels of her hemispheric hearth let no man spit assunder. Dust off the jalosies. Why is a boy more likely to be a hydraulic engineer than a girl? It’s awl in the pia mater.

I think, shadows and chantymen, that it’s time to calibrate yr eggs. In the jaws of a christian encrypytion device. If it wasn’t for the acid rain, we wouldn’t need silos. At seven cents on the dollar, one seismology fritters all.

Press reset, sultry lass. You look like a million dots. Enough leg up to win hands down. Just bare the facts, maam. Remound me when we past Venus. Planets play gutenburg tag to call our jungfrau’s buff. Upstairs, downstairs, a smooch operator in the chamber of love. Best hornament. Shamanus gobisquik. She’ll be driving six white horses when she comes.

The moon was as big and white as a whamo fribee the night my true love was a sure shot. Leave her alone and she’ll come home. Molly coddled. Polly excluded. Rhythm sections. Zazie dance la Metro nom. Holly’s conic. Brush you wear hairier in the misseds of history. Raise you three kelvins. Who could ask for anything more?

As a court gesture, redundant as a scholar, I danced with a pen in my pocket and almost wrote myself out of the puncture. Laid at nite one day, as I was waiting for a proton to decay. Roll me up into a bawl to conserve body heat.